


Special Kind of Cunning

by trascendenza



Category: Firefly
Genre: Community: slashfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-27
Updated: 2007-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-04 06:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascendenza/pseuds/trascendenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Don't sprain anything trying to figure it out," Simon said.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Kind of Cunning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for slashfest, for ana_grrl's request ([mirror](http://community.livejournal.com/slashfest/153994.html)).

"Somethin' ain't right about him," Jayne told Mal, jutting his chin toward Simon, shuffling his prissy way through his cargo down below. The Doc might know his way around people's guts, but judging from the very mild curses floating up to where they were standing, he wouldn't be able to find his way out of a crate if the top were shut on him.

It was a tempting thought.

"Could be you have a point, could be that you don't. But his credit's the only thing you ought to be concernin' yourself with."

"Credit's good. I say we shoot him and steal it. Can make it look like an accident, if you want."

"No shootin' the passengers, Jayne. Ain't our way." Mal looked at him sidelong. "'Less you got a good reason you ain't tellin' me about?"

A good reason? Well, he might not know _exactly_ what was off about Simon, but he wasn't going to let that stand in the way of his conviction that he was right.

"Somethin' downright _unnatural_ about him, Mal."

He narrowed his eyes when Mal made some unflattering noises that sounded like suppressed laughter. "I ain't jokin'."

Mal coughed. "Not sayin' you're wrong, Jayne. Just that what we got here is a whole crew of downright unnatural folk, Jayne." Mal put a hand on his shoulder, "But if you find his particular brand of unnatural so offendin', you go ahead and keep an eye on him."

"What about—"

"No shooting him."

"If I just—"

"Or stabbing."

"A little—"

"An _eye_, Jayne. Keep an _eye_ on him, not a weapon. _Dong le ma_?"

"…fine."

"Good. Glad we got that settled."

Mal gave him a pat on the back and went to the bridge, leaving Jayne alone with his thoughts and itchy trigger finger.

"And who says my eyes ain't weapons, huh?" He mused rebelliously to Vera Jr., stroking his thumbpads over her.

"I'm certain if anyone can be charged with ocular harassment, it would be you, Jayne."

He had Vera Jr. aimed at Simon before his mind had even finished processing that the bastard had snuck up on him.

And Simon was looking down the barrel of his gun and _grinning_. Like something was _funny_.

"What the hell you think you're doing, slinkin' around all…" he waved the gun, "slinky like?"

"You could say I'm…" Simon's grin grew wider. "Putting my eyes to good use." His stare was even, and Jayne could feel the unnatural heebie-jeebies crawling all up his spine; Simon's flickering blue-grey eyes seemed to be laughing at him. He couldn't abide by that, so he shoved the gun closer to Simon's chest.

"And what the hell is that supposed mean?"

Simon stepped forward, touching the gun with his chest, and raising his arm to encircle Jayne's wrist with his left hand. His thumb traced a slow circle on the inside of Jayne's wrist, and he wanted to pull away, he really did—_gorram lily-white hands_—but then he'd have to drop the gun.

"Don't sprain anything trying to figure it out," Simon said, stepping back and dropping his hand. He smirked. "Just keep your eyes on me." Then he walked away, still half-smiling. Snide bastard.

Jayne just barely refrained from pulling the trigger after Simon's retreating form, mostly because he didn't want to admit that it wouldn't make him feel any better.

*

Jayne wasn't very good at taking orders. Especially the ones that involved _not_ maiming people who annoyed him. But he knew Mal would kick his ass right good if he did any shooting or stabbing, so the only real option left was to do… exactly what Simon said.

There were few things he hated more than Simon being right.

But he'd done his fair share of stake-outs, so he was no stranger to sitting long hours and waiting for the right moment. This was a little different, though, because in the first place, Serenity was a small ship, and he didn't usually stake out someone who already knew him. It made things awkward.

And what really crawled under his skin was that no matter how hard he tried, Simon always seemed to _know_ he was there. Simon wouldn't say or do anything different, nothing someone else would notice—he'd just put on that smug half-smile all of a sudden, or start whistling cheerfully. Stupid shit like that, obviously intended to annoy Jayne.

Come to think of it, it was downright _insulting_, him acting like nothing was going on. Hell, once River had even looked right at Jayne, pointed and everything, and Simon had just pretended not to notice, going on about his business.

Jayne wasn't sure what pissed him off more: Simon's attention or his nonchalance.

But he kept watching, because until they were conveniently stranded on some run-down planet together, there wasn't much else he could do.

He'd figure it out.

He'd get Simon if it was the last thing he did.

*

_Look at me, gorram it_, he thought one night after Simon had studiously been ignoring him for three hours.

He had no idea where that thought came from. He quashed it down mercilessly.

*

"He's waiting," a disembodied voice whispered, and Jayne jumped, swinging his gun around wildly.

He lowered it when he saw River's hair hanging down from the beams above.

"If you ain't gonna talk sense, I ain't gonna listen," he said, settling back against the wall.

"Sense is in the mind of the beholder," she said, and then: "He won't wait forever. The axial connections of the network are already degrading. Voltage gates are closing."

Next time he looked up she was gone.

*

Three weeks—three excruciating weeks later—and he was done.

He was done sitting in the shadows and listening to Simon complain about every single thing on Serenity that wasn't to his liking. Seemed like there wasn't a force in the 'verse that could shut the man up.

He was done watching Simon smooth down his vests, and tap on needles, and he was _done_ seeing the way Simon's mouth fell halfway open when he was thinking, and looking at those pretty lily white hands jot things down, done watching the _qing wa cao de liu mang_ smile all the time, smile as if he _liked_ Jayne watching him—

He pounded on the door, as much to demand entrance as to clear his head, chest heaving.

Hands clutching the air, he wished for Vera, but he'd left her behind on purpose. At least hand-to-hand, Simon would have a fighting chance. Not much of one, he thought as he felt knuckles stretching against skin, smiling ferociously. But if Jayne didn't _do_ something soon, he was going to go out of his mind.

He might already be.

"Open up!" He cried, rearing back for another pound, but he was thrown off-balance when the door actually did.

The momentum, enough to break the door in half, most likely, kept him going forward; Simon crumpled with a soft _ooof_.

"I guess that was the wrong moment for my big entrance," Simon said wryly, one hand on his shoulder, his head flopped back against the floor.

Irrationally, the urge to thrash Simon had only grown stronger. He could barely see Simon through the red haze boiling up behind his eyes; crouching down, he grabbed Simon's shoulders like they were an anchor and he was awash at sea.

"I am so _gorram sick of you_, you slimy _hun dan_. Actin' like I'm not even here. You think I'm stupid?"

Simon shook his head. "Not half as stupid as you pretend to be, no." He raised a eyebrow. "I'm paying attention now. What do you intend to do? Rip me limb from limb?" And there was that infuriating smile again.

Jayne could barely form words, "—wanna wipe that smile off your face." Simon's tongue darted out over his lips, and Jayne didn't even try to look away this time, "and if I hear one more complaint out of that sweet little mouth of yours—"

Simon raised his face closer to Jayne's, his eyes flashing like thunderclouds about to break. "You'll what? You don't want to hear me complain anymore?" His hand snaked to the back of Jayne's neck, pulling him down, and his voice rolled out like rough gravel. "Then you're going to have to _shut me up_."

The red bled out from behind his eyes and took over his limbs; he kissed Simon so hard that his teeth jangled, and he felt a strange satisfaction when Simon's hands threaded in his hair so tightly that it was on the verge of being pulled out.

The satisfaction hummed stronger when he rolled onto his back, pulling Simon's body flush. Their kiss, instead of breaking with the movement, deepened; Simon was invasive, rough, not at all gentle, pushing against Jayne just as hard as Jayne pushed him. The sensation that had crawled up his spine every time he looked at Simon was now throbbing under his skin, leaving him light-headed and _hard_.

Simon broke the kiss, sitting up. He looked sordid, lips bruised red and hair falling into his eyes.

"You know," he said, trailing a hand down Jayne's chest, "this could be a bad idea."

Jayne, cotton-mouthed, watched as Simon fiddled with his belt.

"If someone saw this, they might think you didn't hate me."

The belt fell away and Simon's hand wrapped around his cock, firmly.

"They might even think that you actually liked me."

A quick downward stroke; Jayne gasped.

His jaw locked, hips jerking up to meet Simon. He let out the breath he'd been holding, bringing up his hands to rest on Simon's hips.

"So? You gonna wax philosophical all day or you get on with it?"

Simon's grin could only be classified as cunning.

And seeing it as he came, Jayne thought, yeah—he just might learn to like it.


End file.
